Of selfless and oppressors
by Trapuccino
Summary: Re-write of my previous story. Moriarty aproaches Joan with an ofert she can not refuse. One-shot.


**Thanks to my beta reader AussieGal20!**

Joan walked through the shelves at an easy pace; occasionally stopping to look at a piece of clothing that caught her attention; she would take one off the rack, try the feel of the fabric by running it in between her fingers, check the fit, the color and design but when the item failed to amaze her, she would put it back and continue with her walk.

_She had woken up unusually early that day, had gone downstairs and presumed Sherlock was still sleeping when she did not see any evidence that he had been there since last night._

_Looking out the window, a small smile spread across her face when she saw the soft, white dots slowly falling, occasionally moved by the rhythm of the cold breeze. The image before her looked like it was taken from a Christmas tale, and she stayed there for a few more seconds before the cold slipping through the glass was too uncomfortable, and headed to the kitchen._

_Joan prepared a simple breakfast consisting of coffee and a toasted bagel. Whilst the food was heating up, she picked a stack of files from the floor and placed it on the table; Sherlock's latest assignment for her had been the study of the historical and economical venues of the middle eastern European countries from the last two centuries, and although the information was simple and easy to absorb there were many details, dates, numbers and actions, and Joan needed time to carefully analyze the data._

_Once the coffee was ready and the bagel done she heard Sherlock making his way downstairs._

"_Morning," she greeted as she bit down on the bagel._

"_Morning," he replied in his usual, animated tone and picked a mug to serve himself some coffee. Before he had a chance to sit down his phone rang._

"_This is Sherlock Holmes," he answered standing very still in the middle of the room, mug in hand._

"_Yes, well that tends to be the case." Though Joan was sure the man couldn't tell, she knew him well enough to recognize the sarcasm in his voice and she smiled amused. He nodded a few more times and to Joan's surprise he ended the call by saying, "Wonderful, I will be there in twenty minutes" with a vigorous nod he hung up. _

"_Wonderful news," he said placing the mug on the kitchen table, too marveled to notice Joan scrunched her face in confusion "That was an old acquaintance who wanted me to solve the not so mysterious disappearance of his wrist watch, a family antique that was stolen by his son, probably to pay for his useless Nordic wife," he explained with a spark in his eyes as he put his coat on._

"_I don't understand," Joan began bewildered. "Why is that wonderful news? You already solved it and you hate these things," she said, referring to the obvious, bland cases._

"_Because," he said, going up stairs, "He is so desperate that he will give me a hand written copy of a most valuable manuscript, one that I have tried to put my hands on ever since I saw it." He came back fully dressed. "Believe me, Watson, when I say this is very much worth it." He grabs the phone from the table, wished her a good morning, and rushes out of the house._

_Joan remained still for a moment, staring at the place Sherlock had been just moments ago, before she shook her head and went back to her reading._

_She spent two hours on her studying, until her muscles began to feel sore from the lack of motion and decided to go for a run. Although the day was particularly cold she had run in even colder climates, and she knew that with the proper clothing she would be more than fine. Joan washed the mug and knife she used on the bagel, content with the sudden silence in the house. The moments she got there alone were rare, but she enjoyed them nonetheless._

_She changed into a pair of black leggings, running shoes, a violet sweater, and a light jacket. It was cold outside but she would not dress overly warm, otherwise the cold combined with her sweat would make her sick._

_She chose one of her regular routes. The holidays were near so the main streets were filled with people doing their shopping, and she chose to go through the city taking a few less crowded paths. Joan had run for about thirty minutes before she passed by Bloomingdales and decided to go inside, the cold having turned out to be a bit too much than what she could handle._

A long, embroidered pair of green trousers caught her eye and she took it off the rack to check it closely. The trousers were high-waisted and had pockets with a simple decoration, the fabric was denim embroidered with small leaves in a darker shade of green.

"Beautiful choice," said a playful, feminine voice. A voice she knew all too well. _It can't be_, she thought, her mind racing through different possibilities, none of them viable. Joan turned slowly, making sure to look as calm as she felt. She did not fear her.

"Moriarty," Joan saluted her, hanging up the trousers, "I thought you were rotting in jail," she said, copying the blonds' playful tone.

"Well technically I am," she said, as she took a pink chiffon shirt and examined it from the front and back before she hanging it back with indifference, "but I have never been a fan of technicalities." A cocky smile spread through her face.

"Good to know" Joan said with a small smile, "So what brings you here?"

"I was wondering if you were up to some retail shopping" she stepped closer with a big smile, "my treat, of course," she clarified.

Joan looked around and found, as she was sure she would, at least two men with guns cleverly disguised under their clothes.

"I am assuming it's non-negotiable," she stated, recalling their previous encounter when she had ambushed her on the street.

"Of course." She nodded, still smiling but her eyes had a predatory glint. Without further ado. Joan and Moriarty left the store and headed to a big black Mercedes which Joan recognized as the 2013 Mercedes-Benz S class, undoubtedly a rental. One of the men opened the door so that Joan could enter whilst the other kept an eye on them from behind.

"So" Moriarty said as the car started forward, "What have you been up to?" she asked cheerfully.

Joan who was looking out the window trying to determine where they were going turned and restrained herself from sighing. The game that she played was tiresome, especially when she knew this couldn't end well.

"I'm sure you have people that can better inform you than me."

"Indeed," Moriarty admitted. "But it's nice to have a girl talk every once in a while don't you think?" Though her tone was mocking, Joan detected something else, something she couldn't place.

"I suppose," she replied absent-mindedly and after that they both stayed in a strangely comfortable silence.

Joan watched as the cars went by. The traffic was getting more and more chaotic; cars stopped in the middle of the street to let people get out, families crossed the street with little regard for themselves or the drivers. After some minutes the shops began to change, supermarkets disappeared and the buildings became fancier. After ten minutes of driving they stopped at a beautifully looking store. The front was of a creamy white color; two impossibly green, small leaved bushes adorned each side of a huge mahogany door. Joan looked at Moriarty and arched an eyebrow when she recognized the store.

Jamie held Joan's hand in hers and with a gentle squeeze said; "Let's have some fun". Not comfortable at all with her friendly behavior Joan complied.

They got out of the car and entered the place. A good-looking woman of around forty approached them with a polite smile.

"Good morning ladies and welcome to Dior, can I be of your assistance?" The woman was genuinely kind Joan noticed. Her hands, though perfectly polished denoted a kind of strength that was not usual for a woman of her employment. On her left hand she could see older injuries consistent with rougher work, she had most likely been working in Dior for at least five years.

"Good morning," replied Moriarty. "My friend and I are looking for some casuals, what can you offer us?"

The woman nodded and led them to a section filled with beautiful clothes and accessories, all arranged in different spectrums of colors, most of them pastels. Regardless of the situation Joan couldn't help but to be captured by such a display of art.

"Is there anything in particular that you are looking for?" the employee asked.

"Mmm… no, I think we will see and call you if we need any help," Moriarty said politely.

"Of course," said the woman and left them to themselves.

"See anything that you like?" Moriarty asked walking toward Joan.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, letting her frustration slip into her tone. She didn't like not knowing what she was up to, and as unpredictable as she was she

"Well shopping of course!" Jamie replied as if it were the most normal thing in the world, "Now come on, pick something!"

Joan glared at her, not threateningly but annoyed. She decided to go along with it to see if it just would end faster. She was sure Moriarty wouldn't hurt or kill her, no matter how much she wanted to, Sherlock could never forgive her and Joan knew Moriarty wanted him.

She looked at the different garments and chose an elegant, pale blue, cashmere long coat, knowing that she should comply to Moriarty's wishes.

"Oh wonderful," she complimented Joan's choice and called the woman to ask for one in her size. They spent the morning that way, with Joan trying on different clothes and Jamie sitting comfortably in a large couch showing her approval or disapproval though, to be fair, that hardly ever happened since Joan's petite body and graceful manner could pull off virtually anything.

After one and a half hours of shopping, Joan left the place with two long coats one being the pale blue and the other a bright red wool one, three short coats, four pair of trousers (two informal, two formals), three shirts, four pairs of high heeled boots, two pumps, five hats, three bags and an umbrella.

"It feels good doesn't it?" Moriarty said inhaling the cool air, she turned to face Joan who was handing the bags to one of the men from before. "What?" she asked while watching her.

"To have new clothes of course," she said like talking to a child, "It makes one feel… renovated." The last word implied a meaning Joan did not want to unveil.

"Yes, I feel my soul infuriate with joy," she replied sarcastically. "What is this anyway? Is too dull to keep a track on me in my regular clothes?"

"Oh now, now!" Moriarty admonishes her; "It is not that I do not like your style but it is most unfitting for your new job." She took the cell phone from her purse and started to go through it, a wicked smile formed in her lips.

"My new what?" Joan asked confused. Her anger was starting to rise. Was she expecting Joan to do some of her dirty work? The first thing that came to her mind was Sherlock; she would try to get to him by any means possible, and Joan was not going to let that happen.

"It is unfortunate," the blond woman began; "That your family has chosen the main fair to take your little cousins out for a stroll today," she handed Joan the cell phone and she froze, panic numbed her skin when she saw the video on the screen.

The main fair was fill with people, most of them with colorful packets, others carrying freshly cut Christmas trees. However the most chocking image was the one of her family; her mother to be more precise, along with her brother and his girlfriend, and her cousin Mary who was pushing her two toddlers in a double stroller. The camera that was filming this was not fixed and was being carried by somebody. She was meant to meet them all later for lunch in a nearby Café; that is if a case didn't kept her from it.

Moriarty, who had been watching with increasing delight in Joan's reaction, took another cell phone and dialed.

"What is this?" Joan asked her in rage, holding the cell phone high.

"The rate of robberies," Moriarty continued; "And murders increases a great deal during these types of events. It is amazing what people would do, in broad daylight." She jutted at cell phone and Joan reluctantly directed her gaze back to the screen.

In it she continued to see her family. They were standing near a fountain and Joan could see one of the children trying to get to it in spite of the cold, and his mom struggling to hold him in place. Her mother was laughing as she watched the boy with fond eyes. The picture could be funny, adorable even, had it not been for the woman with the gun in her hand pointing at them. Everybody in the screen seemed blissfully unaware of that fact, which made it all the more horrible.

"What do you want?" she spat the words making sure her inner turmoil could not be seen. She would not show weakness, Moriarty fed from that. "To convince Sherlock to take you back? To keep tabs on him, inform you of what he does or who he is with?" Those were some of the reasons that she could think of, none of them made sense but yet again neither did Moriarty.

"No my dear Watson, you got it all wrong it is not Sherlock who I am after," Moriarty explained and Joan felt her blood freeze, perhaps she would kill her after all.

"No, I do not intend to kill you Joan. You see, despite everything, Sherlock did disappoint me. His downward spiral with drugs was a remainder of the weakness of a great mind."

"He loved you," Joan accused her. "That weakness that you are talking about was the grief over a lost love, he felt impotent, he hadn't been able to protect you and he blamed himself for that," her voice was like a hiss. "You love him as well, what you did, going to see him in the hospital? That was a weakness!"

"Yes," Moriarty walked to her, her face a few inches from Joan's. Her expression was determined and appreciative, Joan realized that she was appreciating her, and the small traces of anger were directed toward Sherlock. "But I, Joan, did not hate myself for it. He was unique, the only mind that could be compared to mine, the only one who could surprise me and he did such a self-loathing act over _romance! _Love. I refuse to compare him to me; yes I still love him, yes I still respect him for his uniqueness but

Realization hit Joan but she did not move. "You are after me," she stated breathless; "But I was weak."

Moriarty took a few steps back, lifter her chin and smiled; "You mean your self-placed punishment as a sober companion after the death of your patient?" Joan, slightly surprised, nodded.

"You were weak Joan, but you punished yourself not for the lost of a loved one, you punished yourself because you knew you were better than that, and you were admonishing that error," she explained rather proud.

Joan heard a scream and watched the screen. A couple of kids were playing with snow, and a girl had stuffed a boy's pants with it. Her family was still alive, they had moved from the fountain and were calmly walking through the street, the woman with the gun closely following behind them.

"I want you to work for me, and with me. You will come with me and I will teach you all you need to know, your death will be staged and you will have no further contact with anybody from your previous life. Your family will stay alive as long as you comply, do you agree?"

She had no way to refuse. Whatever it is that she was planning, Joan had to obey or her family would be killed, right there and right then. "I have no guarantee that if I leave they will live."

"No, you don't at this moment but you can't say no, can you?" Her expression was of triumph, Joan had no choice, and there was no way she would let her family die.

At that moment Joan knew it was over. She would give herself for her family but Moriarty would not kill her, she had not been "weak" the way Sherlock had, she had done it for her family and for herself. But what about Sherlock? He had accomplished so much, had opened up and shown a side of himself that very rarely did he share. He would think her dead but he would not succumb to drugs again. No, if he did, he would disrespect her memory, and she wanted nothing but for him to be happy. She looked around, the day was beautiful, calmed and blissful. How different the day had turned out to be. She glanced at Moriarty, she was waiting for her, Joan might say she was giving her time. She looked at the family on the screen and smiled.

"No," she said tearing her eyes away from the screen, her eyes a bit red but she would not cry.

Moriarty gestured for her to get into the car and she did. Once the two women were inside the driver began his way, this time faster than before and in less than thirty minutes they were at the edge of the town. They both stayed silent, Moriarty did not attempt anything, and again Joan believed her tactic was more of understanding than of torture.

"Where are we going?"

"Home."


End file.
